Orenda: Eternal Vendetta

CHAPTER 10

Pierre Twofeathers, his stomach stretched tight as a drum from the unexpected feast of fried chicken, felt unusually drowsy. He built a roaring fire, and settled down comfortably in front of it.

The first phase of his mission was complete. He had built the cage, and was confident it would meet all the requirements Tenskwatawa had laid down. Tonight he would communicate his success to him, and would find out what the next step in his task would be.

He felt more confident in his ability to complete the mission now that the cage was complete, and his stomach full. Meeting the tiny girl who had survived an encounter with Orenda also fired his self confidence. Perhaps, if this tiny speck of a child could withstand the spirit's might, then an old man had a chance.

He chewed at the peyote slowly. He was in no hurry, for he knew the spirits were near tonight. The time was coming close. He peered through the small opening high on the wall of his shack, and noted the position and phase of the moon. The stars seemed to be competing with the large silver-gray ball in brilliance. Pierre knew this clearing of the atmosphere heralded the coming of a cold front, and probably would mean snow. It was the type of night in Ontario when the wolves would howl all night long.

He thought back to the land of the Algonquian. He missed it, realizing that snow would already have laid a thick white mantle over the land. He would be setting his trap lines out now, hoping to snare winter furred mink, beaver, and rabbit. The strong aroma of baking Salmon drifted into his mind, and he knew the Algonquian women would be placing it in their stone ovens at this very moment. Pierre's mouth watered at the thought, and he chewed more quickly on his dwindling supply of peyote.

Twofeathers drifted slowly into a trance, staring woodenly into the flickering, wavering fire which served as his window to the spirit world. When Tenskwatawa came into view, Pierre smiled, and held his right hand up, palm open and facing the Prophet, giving the ancient greeting of peace. Tenskwatawa did not smile, but commended Twofeathers for completing the construction of the cage as quickly as he had.

Then Tenskwatawa explained to him how the Manitou hunted its prey, and told him of Orenda's control over the timeless spirit; and how he used the Manitou to aid him in his blood quest.

"What does the Manitou look like, that I might recognize it?" Pierre asked.

"It has many shapes, and no shape. None can be seen by human eyes. It is textured like the wind it rides. Some men have felt it when it was near, but no man has ever seen it."

"What is the feeling?" Pierre asked.

"The feeling is fear!" Tenskwatawa replied. "Be silent while I tell you what you must next do."

The Prophet spoke for a long time, and as the plan was divulged, Twofeathers became steadily more shaken. Gone was the warmth and security he usually felt when communicating with the spirits. It had been replaced by fear and revulsion.

"I cannot do it! I am too old. . .too feeble!" Pierre broke in.

Tenskwatawa remained silent, staring through the flames of the fire into Pierre's face. Finally, he reached an arm through the flickering flames, and beckoned to Pierre.

"Come, I shall show you."

Pierre stepped through the fire, but it did not burn. He felt no sensation whatever as he entered the spirit world. He clung fearfully to the hand of the Prophet, however.

"This is how the spirits of your people should be for all eternity." Tenskwatawa said, pointing out the happy faces of Tuscazoarans going about their business. Children laughed, infants gurgled, and women traveled in and out of wigwams, their arms laden with food stuffs. In the distance, he saw braves practicing with bow and arrow, spears, and tomahawks. The sound of their guttural laughter could be heard even at this great distance. It was a happy place; a peaceful heaven in which the spirits dwelled.

"When Orenda rides the Manitou, this is the result!" Tenskwatawa said, and waved his right arm. In a flash, the happiness died. It was replaced with the writhing, moaning, screeching horror of the spirit beings in agony. They steadily weakened, their movements slowing, their shapes drawing inward until they looked like human shaped prunes; wrinkled and blackening, even as he watched. A terrible stench began to rise from the campsite. It was the stench of death, and it gagged him. He saw an infant, who a few moments earlier had been happily gurgling in its birch bark cradleboard, shrink to the size of a wizened apple, and tumble from beneath its restraining straps, face down into the rancid soil. Its mother was too weak to lift it back, and simply lay beside it, moaning piteously. It was the most horrifying sight Pierre had ever witnessed, and he trembled with the agony of his people.

Tenskwatawa led him back to the fire, and placed him back inside his shack. "Now you see the price paid for Orenda's revenge. Go now and do as I have instructed you. Do not whine like an old woman, but act like the warrior you wish to become."

"I do not have the strength in my arms, nor the speed in my legs." Pierre complained.

"You must find the strength. You must find the speed. You must find the will!" Tenskwatawa said sternly. "You are the only man left alive who can do it. You must!" Tenskwatawa, his brown eyes flashing, turned and left, and the window in the fire closed.

Pierre passed from trance to sleep sometime during the early morning hours. It was not long after the owls had perched again on the barren branches, and the deer had sought the haven of the thickest brush. He knew now what he must do, and he was afraid.